2-minute-read
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud Wordsworth is wandering alone when he stumbles onto something beautiful. A walk, a field of daffodils, and a memory that keeps giving. I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o’er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils;
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud · Wordsworth Read More »
Pour something warm. Keats wrote this after a quiet autumn walk, and it reads like one: unhurried, golden, and full of small details. 1.Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;To bend with apples the
Midweek, a little shadow. Poe’s speaker stands on a shore, watching something precious slip away, and begins to wonder whether any of it was ever solid. Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow — You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been
A Dream Within a Dream · Poe Read More »
